A Not So Model Home by David James Read Free Book Online Page A

back, wipe their shoes on you, then climb over your lifeless body. That’s why I have no friends; can’t trust ’em in Hollywood. Plus, I’m a driven, obnoxious, toxic person. Who in their right mind would want to be my friend?”
    There was no argument there. I didn’t know how to answer him. Jeremy was so stereotypically narcissistic that if I called him what he really was—a total dickhead—it would bounce off his protective exterior without so much as a dent. I decided to stick with what manners my mother taught me: If you don’t have anything nice to say about someone, say it behind their back.
    â€œI guess I’ll make sniping and bitchy comments about the other contestants, have others give me the finger, duck when someone throws a wineglass at my head, and get swept up in what promises to be a tsunami of self-manufactured and unnecessary drama. You know, like what happens on a typical realty show.”
    Jeremy clapped his hands, the twenty-odd, trendy silver bracelets on his left arm jingling like a slot machine jackpot. “Excellent! This chick’s got it. I hope the rest of you gentlemen heard that. I want you to write that down and paste it to your bathroom mirror and recite it every day. That’s your fuckin’ mantra! Okay, we start filming Monday. Be here at six A.M. sharp!”
    While everyone got up to leave, I sat in my chair, dazed, wondering how all this happened. Yes, I knew exactly that this show was going to be little more than a gay Jerry Springer with a lot of tight pants. Yes, I signed the contract to be on the show. Yes, I showed up today for the briefing. But as I sat there, I wondered why I had done this? For the fame? Probably not. My low self-confidence made me shun the limelight like a cockroach under a fluorescent kitchen light. For the money? Well, yeah. I had four condo rentals that weren’t going to pay for themselves. And a mortgage on a money pit that I called home (or The Curse, depending on my mood that day). But still, I couldn’t get the question out of my mind. Like a mass murderer at his arraignment, why did I do it? And the answer was that I didn’t know.
    Jeremy, sensing wrongly that I was starstruck, gave me a pep talk.
    â€œYou’re going to be a star, baby. What’s my little girl thinking about?”
    I let the “little girl” pass as just another Hollywood-bullshit-make-small-talk. I looked him straight in the face. “I was thinking that being on this show was going to make spending a weekend with Liz and Dick Burton look like a Girl Scout Jamboree.”
    â€œThat’s the spirit,” Jeremy exclaimed enthusiastically, clopping me hard on the back as I stood up to leave.

C HAPTER 5
    I’ve Got A Funny Feeling About This
    â€œS o how was my movie star’s first day?” Alex asked as I walked into our decoy office at the real-estate firm where we routinely gave too much of our commissions to our do-nothing brokerage. We mostly operated out of our home offices but used this one to store our huge files, make telephone calls, and more importantly, color copies.
    â€œThere’s less tension at a Palestinian-Israeli summit meeting.”
    â€œThe bitchiness has started already?”
    â€œOh, Alex, you have no idea. This show is going to descend into the depths of white trashiness.”
    â€œThe guys look the part? One tooth in the front of their mouths to hook some fruit?”
    â€œAlex, I didn’t say these guys were from Desert Hot Springs. No, all the contestants are gorgeous models. Most are still working and one is in rehab.”
    â€œA model in rehab. I never thought I’d see the day,” Alex said, insincerely shaking his head.
    I took a stack of flyers for an overpriced home and dropped them all on the floor. “But behind the Estée Lauder eye rejuvenation creams and plastic Prada pants, their manners and breeding give ’em away. The